Soulless, Chapter 3

(Third chapter...I'm kind of just waiting for someone to come through and rip this to shreds. I think it needs a lot of work, so the more advice I can get, the better... Haha. Enjoy?)

3: Tristan

Dr. Matthew Friedman, Curator of Collections

Standing before his office door, I felt smaller than when I first entered the museum two years ago for an interview. I knocked, which was greeted with a faint “come in.”

“Dr. Friedman?” The man looked broken, to say the least; the bags which made a home below his eyes were darker, swollen, and his skin reminded me of crumpled paper.

“Yes, boy?” Even his voice rattled like an old tin can. “What is it now?”

I took a step forward, boldly--or perhaps just enough to make me seem bold. “I’ve come to ask for my job back.” My statement was met with silence. “I have worked here for two years, tirelessly, doing everything in my power to help you make more of this museum than any curator has before.” The man turned away from me, shuffling through his papers as if he already knew the rest of what I had to say. “With our teamwork, we were able to open a new wing of the museum. Sure, now we may have a significant budget cut, but we can make it work. I’ll take a pay cut, anything--”

“We just can’t afford it. We’ve fired all of our interns and assistants until we can reassess where our money will be going. I anticipate that most of our workforce in the near future will come from part-time volunteers.” He turned to look at me, his tired eyes barely peeking through his sallow skin. “You were a wonder and an asset to me, and I want the best for you. I would be happy to write you a recommendation anywhere else you choose to apply.” His words were final. I bit my tongue, fighting back the protests begging to fall from my lips; I would depart with the grace of a martyr.

“I understand. Thank you, Dr. Friedman, for everything you have taught me during my time here. I am truly grateful to you.”

“Of course. Good luck, Tristan.”

“And you.” I turned, taking one last look around his office. Over the years I worked there, his walls had become more and more decorated with notes, papers, and pictures of our successes. I could remember pinning the floor plan for the new wing next to the doorway, just above a table which forever held a vase of flowers. I glanced down, and something upset me as I noticed that the lilies had wilted. I touched one gently, as if to beg it to cheer up, and one by one they filled with life again, straightening their blossoms and forgetting their sadness entirely. It seemed unfair for them to suffer, too.

---

I found myself sitting in the park in the neighborhood where I grew up. I could remember very clearly how Em and I used to play there. She never let me be sad, not for a moment. Even as her parents went through a particularly nasty divorce, she would show up with a smile, indifferent to it all. It was a blessing in a time of my life I’d rather forget.

“Getting some fresh air?” I glanced up to see my sister standing just a few feet away.

“You too.” I could distantly hear her seating herself next to me.

“Yeah, well Em’s kind of gone off the deep end. I don’t feel much like going home any time soon.” I laughed.

“Em’s been off the deep end, really. It’s nothing new.”

Nat got quiet for a minute. “Yeah, well, did you know she started drinking?”

That startled me. I turned to look at her with disbelief; she really was dead serious. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose and squinting up at the sun, silently reminding myself that she is not and never will be my responsibility.

“No. I don’t care either.”

“Now why don’t I believe that?” Because it’s not true. “I think you still love her just as much as you did after died,” she accused, though her voice grew quiet as she finished.

“Dad didn’t just die. He killed himself. And no, I don’t love her. I don’t even care about her anymore,” I snapped. My voice came across more bitter than I intended. “I love the girl she used to be, but she’s changed so much. I mean, you know it. You’ve seen what she’s become.”

“And have you ever once stopped to ask her why she’s changed so much?” she demanded.

Well… no. “Of course I have.”

“You’re such a bad liar.”

“Personally, I think that’s a good quality to have.” My phone chose that moment to squeal out a few bars of Beethoven’s 9th. “It’s Dr. Friedman. I need to take this.”

“I’ll see you back at the apartment then.” She waved and trotted off. It felt as if raw adrenaline was coursing through my veins in that moment.

“Dr. Friedman! Is something wrong? We spoke less than a half hour ago.”

“Well something came up. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said, and so I brought it up with the chairman, and he’s given me the okay to give you your job back.” He sounded surprised, himself.

“Really? Thank you! Thank you so much, Dr., I swear you won’t regret this decision.” I could barely contain my excitement.

“Let’s hope. I’ll see you tomorrow at 8.”

“Yes, good day.”

“Good day.”

Score!

---

“Haha, bye now!” Em’s voice floated from her apartment as I climbed up the stairway to my apartment. Some guy with the looks of a football player passed me on the way up. I heard her giggle, and so I hurried to grab her door before she could shut it.

“Did you sleep with him?” The girl turned to look at me, her eyes unfocused.

“Well yeah. What’s wrong with a little one-night stand to ring in the new year?” she laughed.

“It’s July,” I informed her.

“Perfect--just after Chrissmas,” she slurred, leaving the door wide open as she went to retrieve a beer from her fridge. I snatched it from her before she had the chance to open it. “Hey! Tha’s mine!”

“What is with you, Emmalyn? I know you, and this,”--I pointed to the beer--“Isn’t it. I know your mother would be furious if she knew what you’d done to yourself.” Her mother was one of the few people I knew for sure she respected.

“Yeah, well she’s never going to find out about this, now is she?” she asked with a laugh, grabbing the beer back and struggling with the cap. “Help me?”

“Sure, I’ll help. I’ll call and tell her right now.” I grabbed my phone and flipped it open, already dialing.

“Go ahead. Bet she’ll be thrilled to hear from you.” Her words were saturated with sarcasm.

It didn’t ring. “The line’s disconnected,” I muttered.

“Oh yeah, I forgot!” She feigned surprise. “There’s no cell reception in Heaven.”

“What?” I could almost hear my intestines convulsing inside me.

“She died, Tristan. She died the week of finals,” she hissed. “And you thought I just slept my way through them. You thought I was just too much of a slacker to care. Never mind that I was arranging for her wake and trying desperately to contact my father--if you could even call him that--who, by the way, didn’t bother to show up at her funeral.”

“Em…I’m so sorry.” I meant it. Why hadn’t she told me before? I guess I hadn’t even asked… I just assumed she was in the wrong.

“Oh? I thought I was Emmalyn now.” She finally succeeded in popping the cap off her beer, but I grabbed it before she could drink.

“She still wouldn’t want you to throw your life away like this,” I pleaded.

“Getting a buzz every now and again isn’t throwing my life away,” she snapped.

“Maybe for some idiot sorority girl, but I know you better than that.”

“Yeah, well apparently you didn’t.” What could I say? She was right.

“How did she go?” I asked quietly. Her gaze finally met mine, and she sighed.

“Not peacefully. She was murdered. They don’t even know who did it.” Wait, what? Em slowly trudged over to the couch and slumped down there, resting her head in her hands. The next thing I knew, I was next to her, rubbing her back as she cried. “Why would anyone want to kill her? She didn’t do anything. I’ve done worse in my nineteen years than she’s done in her forty.”

“Shh…We’ll find out who did it. We’ll find out why. I promise.” And that was a promise I knew I could keep. Who would know her murderer better than the victim herself? I guess you could call it one of the few benefits of tending to the dead.

“Yeah? And how can you be so sure?” She wiped her swollen eyes and glowered up at me in anger. “Even then it won’t change that she’s gone.”

“But I can let you say goodbye.” Her lips parted a little, and I spoke before she could bombard me with questions. “Follow me.” I took her hands in mine and led her out to her balcony, which doubled as a mass grave for all the plants she managed to kill with her neglect. I took up a pot that had no more than a brown stub of organic matter left in it, and held it out to her. As she took it, the stub grew greener and taller, and within moments the flower was in full bloom again, sporting yellow blossoms. She laughed at my expectant gaze.

“So you mean you could’ve been helping me with my gardening all along?” I could feel my heart beat more furiously in my chest. Was she still that drunk?

“Um, well, I meant..”

“I know. You look so surprised. Did you really think you could hide it from me for all these years?” She looked amused, and my eyes narrowed.

“How long have you known?”

“That you’re good with dead things? Well, when your cat got run over in 3rd grade and you hugged it back to life, I think I had my suspicions. I figured you’d tell me when and if you were ready,” she explained.

It was…shocking. There was not a trace of repulsion in her eyes, no frightened steps back, no shouting--just…acceptance. It felt unreal.

“You know…I wanted to tell you. I really did, but it was hard.” She didn’t quite seem to get where I was going with this, so I set the flowerpot down and braced myself for a more serious discussion. “My dad didn’t just…die when I was younger. He killed himself. I’ve never told anyone this before, but it was my fault, too. He was a good, Christian man; he believed in God above all things. To him, I was a monster. And he told me that, the night he found out. He screamed at me. I was alone in facing his wrath.” I felt her hand on my arm.

“He thought I was a demon, that God was punishing him, and so he hung himself. I thought I really was a monster. Sometimes I look at the things I can do, the things I try to do and want to do, and I can’t shake the nagging in the back of my mind that maybe… I still am.” Em…The sweet girl she could be, she wrapped her arms around me tight and just held me. My mouth felt foul with the bitterness of unhappy memories.

“You’re not a monster, Trist. You’re just different is all.”

“I know…But you can know something, and you can know something.” It didn’t make sense, but maybe she understood.

“And I know you enough to tell you you’re not. Doesn’t matter if I’m drunk, I’ll never forget that you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “That’s the sappiest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Good. So don’t make me say it again.”

“I won’t.”